Hibiscus, you’re a hand while alive—
You will die as a fist, fingers folded.

I don’t believe in rebirth but your stem does.
The replacement raises a thumb at dawn,
Waves with a wink when the fist falls—
Five petals find me sweeping skeletons.

You nod my way yet kneel to greet eternity. 
The heat of that handshake could cook okra—
           Your fist doesn’t unfold when you drop.